‘Tis the season for the same old Christmas greetings, or maybe not….

Slide1

Twas the night before Zombie Apocalypse,
and all through the house,
not a stanza was rhyming.
The poet’s a louse.

The parents were hung by the chimney with care
(literally, look at the nooses)
So exhausted from shopping, they didn’t much care.
The children were nestled all smug in their beds
They’d killed off their parents and eaten their heads.

So mamma in her ‘kerchief, and dad in a sack
Had just lost their brains to a zombie attack.
When out on the lawn there arose such a moaning,
Kids sprang from their beds to see who was groaning.

Away to the window they flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The blood on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Showed a lustrous buffet of humans below.

When what to their wondering eyes did appear,
But an iron-clad sleigh and eight fearless reindeer.
With a musclebound driver so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
(Sorry about that. People now claim it’s unhealthy for children to admire an obese Santa Claus. This poem needs to be family-friendly.)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of gifts, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, he heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of kids so aloof.

As he drew in his head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas was tossed with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
Until the warm fire burned it all up to soot.

A bundle of gifts was left in the sleigh
When the zombie kids saw this, they started to say
“His eyes, how they twinkled, these presents, how merry,
We should cook up his brains with a bowlful of jelly.”

The satchel of gifts was drawn up with a bow
And the kids “borrowed” it, I’m sure you all know.
And then on the hearth they found the old guy,
The black smoke, it circled his head all awry.

He’d had a thin face and a fur-covered belly
That looked like a cat’s, not like some mint jelly.
Brains were roasted and crisp, a right jolly treat
The kids laughed when they saw him, they were ready to eat.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
And then after that St. Nick was quite dead.
He spoke not a word, the kids grabbed their forks
And filled up their gullets, “He tastes just like pork!”

And laying their fingers upon all those gifts,
The kids, they did cry… they felt they’d been stiffed.
“I wanted a laptop,” the first kid did whistle
“All that is here is a vacuum called Bissell.”

And I heard him exclaim ere they slept for the night
“Santa Claus is a bitch. These gifts just ain’t right!”

May your children be better behaved this holiday season…